The most beautiful thing
Why bother calling the gods
if they never listen?
Let’s run under the snipers
today the most beautiful thing
is dying in a napalmed country
The blacked-out sun in the smog
and no flame can singe
victory’s thieving fingers
Hobble on your stumps
salute your barrel-bombed city
as best you can
[T 1280, 1275. S 17]